 |
|
    |
 |
||
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
However, the real heart of our Christmas celebration became the four Sundays of Advent. They made us understand and share the spirit of the season as no presents could ever possibly do. Our friends came to the Farm on those dark December nights, passing through unlit countryside, then coming down our long isolated road, and finally arriving at our house. Only the most necessary lights were turned on in the driveway and on the way to the front door. Inside the front hall, only dimly lit by a lantern, they left their coats and hats on the settle, then came quietly into the living room. There a huge fragrant evergreen wreath was placed on the floor, with a candle in the middle to light the room. The children sat around the wreath, while the adults sat on the couch and chairs in a circle around the room. On that first Sunday of Advent, as we waited for the last guests to arrive, even the children were taken by the darkness of the big living room, lit by the flickering candle. For us the darkness was directly from Isaiah: "The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light." The air was full of anticipation. When all had arrived, and a lovely quiet gathered us in, Jack or Seton read an opening Bible verse. Then we sang the first verse of the hymn, "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel." As the four Sundays progressed, going from the very dark first Sunday toward the bright fourth Sunday, when Christ's birth was imminent, we added another verse to this opening hymn. With the light of each additional Advent candle and the brightening of the room, we wanted more song and more joy. In preparation for the homily, one of the older boys read from the Old Testament. Then, using the flame from the center candle, he lit one of the candles on the wreath. On the first Sunday, to explain the Advent wreath, one of the boys read the words:
Now, with two candles lit, we could see more clearly the faces of those gathered nearest to the Advent wreath. As we lighted more candles each Sunday, we eventually saw the faces of all those in the room. As we shared those winter evenings, we also came to know each other better just as the candlelight revealed us more to each other. A New Testament reading followed the lighting of the candle. The homily followed. This was not a deep, theological document. Nor was it exegetical and full of biblical references to be carefully noted. Rather it was a personal expression of the meaning of the theme. That first year our reflections on the nativity touched on the journeys of the shepherds, the holy family, and the kings as they progressed toward the manger in the barn. Later, the thoughts turned to the coming of Christ, and its implications in our own lives and times. I was moved by the time and thought that people put into these homilies. I realized that the church had a wealth of talent among the laity that was rarely tapped. I never heard heresy or "unbaked thought." Rather there was great humility and reverence in the handling of these themes. The homily was followed by a "reflection," a time when any of us could add our own thoughts on the theme. Perhaps because of the dark even the children felt free to say a few words. One night one of the Ware boys—age six or so—said very simply into the darkened room, as if to state the obvious, "Well of course. God loves us." Frank McDermott, gentle scholar that he was, said in Latin, "Ex ore infantium" (out of the mouth of babes). After the reflection we sang the beatiuful song, "Maranatha." Then we sang the Lord's Prayer. A small group of us, who had taken time to practice together, then sang a less familiar Christmas song, perhaps "Maria Walks amid the Thorns," "Long is Our Winter," or the lovely "Dona Nobis Pacem." After this song we passed a basket with a small token or "tangible" to concretize the theme for the evening. The token served as a souvenir that reminded us during the week of the Advent celebration and its theme. One of the first "tangibles" that we made was a tiny crèche of straw with a small cross stitched into it to symbolize the whole story from Christmas to Easter. These tangibles were small enough to hang on a Christmas tree. On the third Sunday of Advent, known as Joy or Gaudete (Rejoice!) Sunday, when the "waiting" is almost over, Kathleen McDermott made a cake with cranberry frosting which the children named the "joy cake." The frosting color was similar to the church's rose-colored vestments and altar hangings on this Sunday of rejoicing. The children favored this "tangible," but they also knew that by Joy Sunday our journey toward Christmas was soon to be over. After a closing verse, we sang the joyous "People Look East." Then we passed the Peace. Seton held the hands of one of the children, saying, "The peace of Christ be with you." The child answered, "And with you." Then, taking his neighbor's hands, the child repeated, "The Peace of Christ be with you." And this new child answered, "And with you." Once all of the children had passed the Peace, it was passed to an adult, until everyone in the room had been blessed. When the Advent celebration was over, each family left quietly, going out in to the chill December night. I remember that once there was a full moon, and the rolling fields, covered in sparkling snow, seemed to adorn our festivities. On the last Sunday of Advent, when all the candles had been lighted, and every verse of every song had been sung—with at least two singings of "People Look East"—one of us turned on the tiny white lights of our Christmas tree that we had just set up the day before. Then we turned on the lights in the rest of the house, lit a fire in the fireplace, and had a party. After all, it was nearly Christmas. The dining room table was set with every kind of Christmas cake and cooky, the St. Nicholas Advent wreath over the table was lit for the last time, and we feasted. Later Kathleen McDermott sat at the piano in the living room and played all our favorite carols. Over the years more friends came until we shared Advent with thirty people. Somehow it never lost its magic and intimacy, perhaps because of the darkness and beauty of the Farm. Even in its repetitions, it never lost its sense of belonging to another time, another place. But the season was not over yet. There were still the twelve days of Christmas. Because we celebrated Advent, Christmas was changed, and our old nemesis was transformed into a friend. Most of it came from simply taking the emphasis off the presents, and finding a way to share the Christmas story. Now the twenty-fourth and twenty-fifth on the Farm became two days we really enjoyed. In Geneva, my family celebrated Christmas on Christmas Eve when we lit our tree with real candles, and, though they only burned a short time, I still remember the tree appearing to be alive in the light of the flickering flame. At the Farm we found a way to observe two different family traditions. On the night of the twenty-fourth we entertained my family, then spent the twenty-fifth with Jack's family. |
||||||
 |
||||||
|
Academics | Admissions | Alumni | Works | Listen | Look | Contact | Index | Home | Yale University
|